


The Center That Holds

by Persephone



Series: Sons of Troy [14]
Category: The Iliad - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: Battlefield, Injury, M/M, Pool Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hector leads a team to counter an Achaean raid on a neighboring allied city, and Paris wants to join.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Center That Holds

In the middle of defending this endless siege against his city, a counter attack on a nearby raid was the very last thing Hector needed to organize. Yet, as he argued with his father’s advisors, it was the very thing he was advocating.

They were in the palace advisory chamber holding the daily morning briefing, which always tested his patience, but this morning the old men were being more difficult than usual.

“We cannot risk the Achaeans realizing that you are gone from the fields, Hector,” one of them repeated. It was a variation on the chant they had been spouting through the meeting.

Hector nodded again, and rephrased his own argument.

“And we cannot risk letting Scyros fall under the spears of our enemy.”

He leaned forward in his seat. “In the middle of this war, with the enemy marauding through the entire region, where would we find a substitute supply for metals? Where would we get our iron for weapons?”

“But the enemy does not know of this commerce, since we have successfully kept it secret from them.”

The other advisors nodded and the old man continued. “They go merely to take women and treasure. Let them. It is not worth the risk of sending our best and mightiest warrior just for that.”

Hector felt his patience die as his anger rose to the surface.

“It seems you have all been out of battle for too long,” he said in a low voice. “When they sack the city, and take the women, what do you think they do with the men? Leave them to come for revenge?”

There was silence. He saw his point was finally sinking in, so he pressed.

“And I suppose you think after the dogs grow fat on the bodies of the slaughtered men they will then pick up tools and make weapons for Troy.”

The meeting ended a few minutes after that with Hector, one lieutenant, and a small contingent of men set to depart for Scyros immediately.

*****

“Paris, I beg you, do not go.”

Paris laughed disbelievingly. His father had been saying a variation of those words for the past half hour, and he showed no signs of stopping.

“Father, I am going!” he said for the fiftieth time.

Priam sighed tremulously, then said quietly, “I know you only go because of Hector.”

Paris stilled for a fraction of a moment before continuing to strap on his weapons.

“I love you dearly, father,” he said, his smile returning. “But where Hector and I are concerned, though you are free to think whatever you wish, please refrain from making any remarks.”

His father moved in front of him and held him by the shoulders, looking into his face. “I know you only go because you feel a sense of obligation to him,” Priam continued as if Paris had not spoken.

Paris felt himself flushing, realizing he had misunderstood his father’s thoughts. His father took his blush for evidence that his words were making an impact, and gripped him tighter.

“We all feel the same sense of obligation to Hector, son, but please, do not go. Let him handle this situation as only he can.”

“I can be of use to him,” Paris insisted. “I have been on raids before, father, remember? And I used to be quite good at it.”

“Son, that was in your past and you do not care about such things anymore. You belong here in the palace. Not out in all that chaos.”

“Chaos? Father,” he teased, “I know you are an old man, but surely you remember what fun there is to be had on these forays…”

Paris winked and Priam scowled at him, but Paris could see him relenting. He smiled and kissed his father’s cheek.

“I am going with Hector, and I will return in three days,” he promised softly.

*****

“He wishes to do what? No.”

Hector turned from Acamas and went back to picking out which weapons to take with him.

“There is no reason not to take him, and every reason to take him,” Acamas said.

Hector shook his head. “Paris is a coward,” he said flatly.

Acamas made a dismissive sound behind him.

“I know what everyone thinks of him. Because he is not eager to fight with a spear and sword they assume he is unskilled.”

“Not unskilled. A coward.”

Acamas laughed and came up to Hector’s side.

“Be that as it may,” he pressed, “he is a strong man. And few can match his skill with a bow. And for the kind of fighting you will encounter on a raid like this, you could use a good bowman, how much more an excellent one.”

“If he could but stand his ground long enough to draw his bow, he might be of use to us. But alas, since he chooses to always hang back…”

“Take him, Prince Hector,” his friend insisted gently. “He is still the man who sailed to distant lands and partook in raids that have now become legend, and—”

“And started wars,” Hector finished for him. He shook his head again. “Paris could sail with the best warriors and _oversee_ their activities, certainly.”

Acamas let out a low chuckle. “Take him. It will mean I can stay, and you know I should stay.”

Hector sighed deeply and turned to his friend. Acamas was grinning victoriously at him.

“I leave the next three days in your hands, Acamas.”

They clasped arm to arm. “You may rely on me, Prince. They will never know you are not on the fields.”

Acamas gave him a firm shake and left the tent, promising to send Paris his way. Hector didn’t think Paris needed to be sent.

He began to strap on his gear and as he did so, went over the names and towns of origins of the twelve men in his contingent. He promised himself he would protect and bring each one of them back home to their wives and children.

He did not count Paris’s name among them because when it came to his brother, the need for protection was his.

He left his tent and made his way out into the fields, still reminding himself of his duty to his men.

*****

They left by the south gate of the city, hidden behind the city itself. Their journey would take them until evening to arrive at Scyros, and according to their spies the Achaeans would arrive at sunrise the next day.

Scyros was a small city of beautiful cobble stone streets, wealthy sea merchants, lovely women, and a thriving commerce of iron supply. Not many Trojans had even heard of the city, which was part of the reason it had remained untargeted by the Achaeans. Until now.

They arrived after dark, and thankfully there was no moon. Even though they did not need to be secretive in arriving, since the Achaeans were going to launch their raid no matter what, it still served no purpose to announce their presence and their numbers.

They were met at the city limits by a wealthy merchant in the direct service of the prince, and were led into the palace through the back stables.

Hector and his lieutenant went into immediate audience with Prince Enyeus, a man with intelligent eyes and a handful of sharp advisors. As they entered the room Hector hid his surprise at finding Paris behind him.

Paris had said nothing to him the entire journey. He had ridden near the back of the group, talking instead with the soldiers, who Hector knew were at first nervous of his presence. It didn’t take them long to accept him, however, and soon they were back there grinning and laughing freely with him.

Now the rest of his men were already quartered and resting for the night, and he thought Paris would be asleep by now, and not attending a strategy session.

“We are eternally grateful for your presence here, Prince Hector,” Enyeus said as they entered the room.

“Not yet,” Hector smiled.

The man smiled back at him, and at his lieutenant, and Hector watched his smile falter as he laid eyes on Paris.

“You must be Prince Paris,” he said as steadily as he could.

Hector sighed silently. Paris bowed, smiling slowly.

“We did not know you would also be coming.” The other prince was staring openly now. “We are honored.”

“If we are to be successful,” Hector began in a low voice, taking his seat, “we should be fast and decisive at the right moment.”

Enyeus nodded and managed to tear his eyes from Paris. Paris sat down against the opposite wall across from Hector, and watched him.

Hector focused his attention on Prince Enyeus. The prince was nodding.

“Our best hope is to repel them before they spread into the city.”

He indicated with his fingers and an advisor brought him a scroll which he laid out on the table in front of him.

Hector moved over and looked. It was a map of the city.

“It is fortunate that they do not come by boat,” the prince sighed, pointing to the tiny bay. “Because of this, their contingency will be very limited on horseback.”

Hector nodded. “It is to be a small raid, from all indication and intelligence. Let us pray that is indeed the case.”

Enyeus went on to explain the direction from which they expected the Achaeans, the advantages to the layout of the city, and the likely targets. Though they were not a city of warriors, the prince’s men were to be the main means of repelling the attack.

They were to set up an ambush for the Achaeans, since they still had the advantage of surprise on their side. Hector’s men would act as commanders in small units leading the prince’s men, and so outnumber and out-maneuver the smaller enemy attack.

While the prince spoke, Hector remained bent over the map but watched Paris from under his lashes.

Paris looked bored.

And that was a sign of trouble.

When he sat back down Paris resumed watching him, not seeming to care that anyone looking at him might wonder why he licked his lips at his older brother.

Heat began seeping into his groin, and Hector’s nostrils flared in irritation. He should not get angry, for it would only worsen his need, but Paris’s wildness was precisely what was not needed on this mission.

He breathed deeply and thought of the men he was responsible for, sleeping, waiting to possibly give their lives when the sun rose.

Enyeus wrapped up the session and Hector immediately left for his room. He smiled grimly when he heard Paris’s footsteps behind him.

*****

Paris stepped into Hector’s room and gasped as he was grabbed and slammed up against the wall.

Hector kicked the door shut and pressed his forearm across Paris’s chest, pushing Paris’s breastplate into his body. Paris stared up at Hector, his mouth open and curving in a delighted smile.

Hector glared down at him with flashing eyes. His jaw clenched, and he slowly shook his head at Paris. And for a full minute Hector did nothing but stare darkly at him.

Paris’s heart slammed as his eyes tore in confusion over Hector’s face. He had seen Hector’s face become unreadable before, but he had never seen a look like this…

There was no flicker of anything he recognized in the dark depths of Hector’s eyes. It was like looking into the eyes of a complete, dangerous stranger.

Paris tried to lick his suddenly dry lips but his entire jaw was trembling.

Hector’s hand moved and gripped his thigh like hot iron on flesh. Paris’s breath hitched and caught through his open mouth as Hector’s hand slid up under his skirt, and then higher still.

Then Hector’s thumb scraped over the tip of his arousal and Paris jerked and gripped Hector’s forearm.

Hector’s burning gaze refused any other movement.

“Is this what you wanted, Xandros?” he growled.

Paris desperately dug his fingers into his brother’s arm and tried to speak. But Hector’s hand slowly closed around him and he instantly grew hard in the rough heat.

It was a sensation he experience too rarely and his thoughts, his mind, the world, everything shrank almost painfully until it could all fit into Hector’s hand stroking him, and it was simply not possible to speak.

Hector leaned into his ear. “You followed me out to this place,” he continued in a whisper. “You must want _something._ ”

Paris whimpered and pulled hard at Hector’s forearm, but couldn’t move it. He wanted that hand off him, to regain his composure, but in that instant desire fanned like a hot wind through his body, Aphrodite’s fierce announcement.

Paris turned his burning face away and breathed through his mouth. He was caught off guard, that was all. He would be all right once he was past his surprise…

Hector parted his skirt, letting the side fall over his arm, exposing Paris’s erection, slick from Hector smearing Paris's wetness all over him.

Then, as Paris watched, he reached under his own skirt and grabbed himself, and began stroking himself just as he stroked Paris.

Paris’s head dropped and he stared down at Hector’s hands, one hidden out of sight, the other stroking him in plain sight. His eyes glazed over.

“Hector…” he moaned long and low, and too softly to make any difference. “Please… s-stop…”

“Stop?” Hector was only breathing lightly, and Paris couldn’t understand why. But it was too difficult to think. His eyes lifted with effort and he looked up into Hector’s face.

Hector was watching him through half lidded eyes. And he appeared in complete control. Paris stared with stinging eyes, feeling the muscles in his knees weaken. He fought to keep his eyes open, and saw Hector’s nostrils flare once, hard.

Paris moaned louder this time, and dropped his forehead against Hector’s shoulder, realizing just how hard Hector fought for his control.

Hector’s breathing deepened as he pushed his skirt open. He moved slightly forward until he stroked his wet tip against Paris’s.

Paris shuddered, gurgling in his throat, and clutched at him.

“Listen very carefully to me, Alexandros,” Hector whispered. “And do not say a word.”

Paris tried to listen.

“Nod your head if you understand me.”

Paris nodded against Hector’s shoulder, oblivious to his forehead pressing into the bronze of Hector’s breastplate.

Hector slowly ran the tip of his cock under the length of Paris’s erection. Paris’s hands flew up and gripped his shoulders. He turned his head into Hector’s neck and measured his hot breaths against his skin. Hector’s breathing deepened only slightly, but Paris heard, and his lips fused on his neck.

“I do not know why you have come,” Hector said steadily, “but I do not believe it is for war.”

Hector's state was inexplicable. That he would do what he was doing was streaking Paris’s mind with such impiety he knew he would not last much longer.

His hips bucked into Hector’s hand.

“Please stop…” he groaned weakly.

“I told you not to speak,” Hector grated. “Nod.”

Paris nodded.

“I have not brought my men out here to be slaughtered.” He spoke softly now, almost casually. “So when we go out tomorrow, you will do exactly as you are told, like everyone else.”

Hector was now rubbing his tip steadily up and down under Paris’s length. Paris felt his legs spreading wider, and thanked the goddess. It was a testament to her gifts that he remained standing.

“Nod your head.”

He nodded, not knowing why.

“We all plan to outlive this skirmish. And I know your propensity for causing skirmishes.”

Hector was pulling back his cock, reversing his actions, now running Paris’s tip under his erection. It trailed wetness. Paris wailed quietly into his neck, pumping his hips.

“If any trouble comes about as a result of any actions on your part, Xandros, I will make you pay.”

Paris wailed louder.

“Nod if you understand,” Hector said patiently.

Paris’s head fell backwards until it bumped the wall behind him, his back arching hard in the constraint of his armor. His head swam, and he was gasping shallowly through his open mouth.

“Do something…” he wailed desperately, clutching Hector's shoulders.

“I will, Xandros. You just try me.”

Hector pulled back and Paris’s hands dropped from his shoulders. Paris opened his eyes in bleary confusion as Hector reached to his side and pulled open the door.

Then Hector placed his hand on Paris’s shoulder, and pushed him out. The door slammed and locked behind him.

Paris stood stock still for shocked moments before letting out an uncharacteristic but very loud shout of frustration.

*****

Paris awoke before dawn to sounds of yelling. He groaned and rolled on to his side, feeling as though he had had too much to drink the night before.

It took him a moment to orient himself, but as soon as he did he was up and dressed in his armor.

He remember what had happened the night before and his mind was a mess, but he couldn’t think about it because the palace was in chaos. It could only mean one thing… the Achaeans had arrived early.

As he ran out of his room and through the palace he knew he should be thinking about his responsibilities on this mission, but all his mind would allow was the thought that Hector had rejected him. His heart was racing for all the wrong reasons.

He rounded a corner and saw Hector and his lieutenant ahead of him. He joined them and they made for the their base, a temple several hundred yards from the palace. The enemy would try to take the palace first, to incapacitate the ruler, clear out the treasury, and put the populace in fear.

It was to their great fortune that the temple was near the palace and provided as good a cover as they could ask for.

When they arrived at its courtyard the men who had been stationed during the night as watches were already releasing volleys of arrows at the approaching Achaeans.

Paris felt his stomach drop at the sight of the murderous Greek warriors. Hector barked out orders to his lieutenant and the men broke into groups and positioned around the temple courtyard.

He, Hector, and his lieutenant ran for cover and one of the men who had been stationed as watch ran over to them.

“Achilles is here!” he shouted.

Paris felt his blood stop flowing in his veins. He looked at Hector, not caring that his fear showed all over his face.

Hector looked calm. “Do not repeat that and alarm the men,” he said quickly, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You all have your orders, you know what to do.”

The man nodded shakily and ran off. Paris’s eyes followed him for a moment, lifting to see the snarling Achaeans in the courtyard, already clashing with their men. None of them looked like Achilles…

He turned back to Hector, and Hector gripped his arm.

“Paris!” he said firmly. “Go! You are with his team.”

Hector and his lieutenant then nodded to each other and raced against the wall, headed for the back of the temple.

Paris sat still. Achilles was here.

His heart pounded in his chest until he could barely inhale. His head was on fire, and his mind began to scream. He wanted to go out and take up his position, to cover the men he was supposed to. But he sat there and thought only that Achilles should not know that Hector was here.

He bolted for the rear of the temple and rounded the back wall in time to see Hector’s lieutenant get speared through and topple over a low wall surrounding a fountain. He splashed into the water as Hector lifted his arm to cut down the Achaean responsible. Instead Hector shouted in pain and dropped his sword as an arrow tore into his side.

Paris had already strung an arrow to his bow and had knelt beside a stone alcove. As soon as Hector went down he had a clear shot of the Achaean raising his spear to stake Hector to the ground. Paris sent an arrow through his neck.

The man fell over backwards with a surprised look on his face. Paris took off across the grounds to where Hector lay slumped against the wall.

“No, Paris!” he yelled. “There will be more!”

Paris dropped to his knees where he was, and crouched against the wall and strung another arrow into his bow. A moment later another Achaean appeared. Hector lay still as bait, and Paris felled the man.

Three more times he shot and hit every Achaean on the first try, until after a few moments of silence he could no longer stay where he was.

He ran in a crouch to where Hector sat.

“Alexandros,” Hector gasped tightly as Paris skidded to a stop on his knees beside him. “There could be more.”

Paris felt his stomach seize upon seeing how deep the arrow had penetrated. He didn’t care if there were more Achaeans on their way.

“I must pull out the arrow from the other side against the barbs,” he rushed, his words coming out all in one breath before he lost his conviction.

He quickly moved to the side and pressed his knee against Hector’s back and with one awful wrench, pulled the length of the arrow through Hector’s side.

Hector convulsed so hard for one terrible moment Paris thought he had fallen unconscious, for he made no sound at all.

But before Paris could say anything, he froze as he saw black blood oozing profusely over Hector’s fingers pressing down on the wound. For a few moments his mind refused to accept what it saw. But black oozing blood from an arrow wound only meant one thing.

He thought of the barbs on the arrow and his eyes closed. Dread and nausea washed over him.

“What is it?” Hector rasped.

“Viper venom,” he said thickly. “It was poisoned. I should not have pulled it out.”

Hector breathed steadily. “All the more reason to pull it out.”

His mind worked fast. He needed to get Hector to a physician, but there was none around. He was the only thing between Hector and the poison spreading.

He forced his voice to stay even as he touched Hector’s black, sticky fingers.

“I must get the poison out.”

“How?”

“Sucking,” he croaked, and Hector’s eyes widened.

“Do you know how to suck—”

Paris looked up as Hector cut himself short, and, despite his situation, gave a short harsh laugh.

“I know how to get it out,” Paris said weakly. “But I must hurry, and… y-you must not get excited.”

Hector frowned fiercely at him, and Paris’s face flushed.

“The poison will spread if…”

Hector nodded brusquely, and Paris unbuckled his breastplate and knelt between his spread thighs. He gripped the sides of his torso, bent over and clamped his lips tightly over the bleeding hole in his brother’s side. He sucked hard.

He turned and spat, and bent once more. He did so a few times and then sat back on his heels. “I will be back with a physician,” he whispered quickly.

Hector nodded curtly, his curls falling all over his forehead. His face was covered in sweat and streaked with blood and dust. He looked at Paris with dark, bottomless eyes.

Paris’s head unexpectedly heated. His hand flew up and grabbed Hector’s hair. He clutched a handful and held Hector’s head firm with all his strength, knowing he would need it. Then he wiped his mouth and shot forward, and covered Hector’s mouth with his.

Hector’s growl sank into his throat. He felt Hector’s hands, one wet with blood, grip his arms and push backwards. Paris kissed him deeply, roughly, slanting his lips over Hector’s.

His head spun, his tongue licked everywhere. He thrust his tongue in even deeper, opened his mouth wider. He dreamt for one instant of climbing into Hector’s lap.

Then he broke the kiss and released Hector’s hair, and without waiting for Hector’s reaction, pushed off his knees and sped away.

*****

Paris sat on a stone bench in an alcove of the bathhouse and watched Hector in the steaming bath. It was late evening, and Hector was talking to one of the prince's advisors.

Paris rested his temple against the wall and prayed the man would stay a little longer because he needed to think.

Hector was fine. Paris had brought him a physician and had helped him put a field dressing on Hector’s wound while the rest of their contingent had successfully staved off the Achaean attack.

No one knew whether or not Achilles had ever actually been there, or whether it was a strategy the enemy had used to put fear in them. In the end they had lost just two men, Hector’s lieutenant, and another soldier.

He himself was unharmed, having been giving a potion with which to rinse his mouth to prevent any infection from the viper venom.

So everything should feel well, but he felt sick. He should not have come on this mission. He did not belong here. It was nothing like what he had partaken in the past, the adventures he had had with other young princes.

Here, he was a nuisance. And Hector was in control. Of both of them.

He closed his eyes.

His need for his brother unfurled deep inside him like a sail in a gust of wind, but it was painful. He twisted his head and stared hungrily at Hector.

His body heated in a way that did not feel familiar. He knew he should leave, but wanted to stay, but feared that Hector would say no to him if he asked to be with him tonight, and that he could do nothing to change his brother’s mind.

He would beg Hector, promise to do or not do anything he wished…

“Come here, Alexandros,” Hector’s deep voice cut through his thoughts.

Paris looked up, not aware he had been staring down at his hands draped between his knees. The prince's advisor had left.

He stood up on shaky legs and walked to the edge of the sunken bath. Hector looked up at him. He lifted his arm, water sluicing down his muscles, and took hold of Paris’s hand. He pulled him closer.

Paris stepped to the edge of the bath and put one foot in. Hector still pulled. He descended into the water and Hector’s hands settled on his hips and brought him down until he straddled him.

Paris realized he was still wearing his robe. It billowed about them, before absorbing water and sinking.

He could not take his eyes off Hector’s face. But Hector was looking down as he played with the rope around Paris's waist, seemingly more interested in the soft lapping the water made against their bodies than at Paris’s shallow breathing.

“You disobeyed my orders today, Xandros,” Hector murmured. He slid his hands inside Paris's robe and held his hips, running his thumbs over burning skin.

Paris held unto his shoulders with trembling hands. His body heated, slowly and completely, and he dared not think of what Hector would do, while under the warm water he felt himself begin to grow hard.

“But, you also redeemed yourself,” Hector continued, “and did very well in the end.”

Paris stared at the beads of water glistening in Hector’s beard and on his cheekbones, hanging onto his spiked lashes and making his lips gleam in the flickering torchlight.

“Now, my question to you is this.” Hector grabbed his waving robe under the water. He used the cloth to pull Paris closer. Paris slid up, making small noises in this throat.

“Am I to punish you? Or…” Hector lifted his head and his eyes blazed into Paris’s.

Paris stared, but could not speak, and could not read Hector’s thoughts. His head told him Hector should be angry at him, and perhaps he was. But he was not shouting, he was not even looking at him with anger. Hector seemed… calm. As if he, Paris, was not sitting near naked in his lap, burning to a cinder.

“Or what, Xandros?”

Paris breathed slowly through his mouth. “Anything you want, Hector,” he whispered thickly. “For you have many times in the past come to my own rescue when…”

Paris felt Hector’s arousal jump and begin to swell beneath him. Paris lost his power to speak. He blinked.

Hector’s face darkened. Not with anger, but instead with…

Paris’s eyes widened and he stared, silently marveling that he had never before realized this. By the love of Aphrodite, this was incredible.

At last, at long last, Paris felt his head cool, the scattering beat of his heart slow until it pounded steadily in his chest. He felt a slow smile curve across his lips, and he began to feel like himself again.

He slid his arms farther up and around Hector’s shoulders, savoring the feel of Hector’s powerful muscles along his arms. Then he ran his hands down Hector’s back, down the sides of his torso, brought them around and over his stomach. Paris watched Hector’s muscles contract in the wake of his fingers and moaned low in his throat.

Hector slowly took hold of first one, then the other wrist, and held both Paris’s hands immobile. Paris looked up.

Hector’s eyes were unreadable. “Then the scales are balanced between you and me,” he said in a steady voice. “For, you saved my life. Thank you.”

Paris’s eyes raked over Hector’s face. Hector had withdrawn, and here was the dismissal that a short while ago he had feared so much. Why had he?

He felt Hector’s hands moving to his hips and pushing him up. Paris didn’t move a muscle, but Hector lifted him to his feet.

“Get a good night’s rest,” Hector was saying. “We journey back at first light. My duty to my men is not over until I get those who are left back home safe.”

Paris stood over Hector with his soaked robe plastered to his body, and stared down.

“Go, Xandros,” Hector said very quietly.

Paris left the room with a small smile playing on the side of his mouth, yet no one seeing his smile would have been comforted.

*****

Hector laid on his back, wide awake and staring up at the small flickering shadow of the torch across the stone ceiling.

He thought about their mission, the journey back, seeing his wife and son again, about his report to his father and his advisors. He thought about anything but Paris.

Suddenly the door to his room creaked opened without a knock.

Hector remained still and listened to the footsteps approaching across the floor. His body tensed, knowing who it was.

He watched Paris come into sight, and the first thing he saw in the dim light were Paris’s eyes. Darker than a starless night, they held desire too profound for mortal eyes, hunger too deep to withstand.

“Stay where you are,” Hector said slowly.

Paris stopped.

“What do you want?”

Paris lifted his arms straight out in front of him and Hector saw that they were bound at the wrists with leather strips.

Hector stared. His mind scattered with a thousand questions, how had Paris done it, when, why, but his body didn’t care. He found himself standing up, walking over to Paris, pulling him forward.

He laid Paris down on his stomach and stretched his arms over his head. He secured Paris’s bound wrists to the wooden frame of the bed, and Paris turned his head to watch his movements.

“You dare not,” Hector rasped thickly, shaking his head. His words were for both of them, and while Paris heeded them and turned his head to the side, he lacked the power to stop his actions.

He pushed Paris’s legs together and pulled off the braided rope at Paris’s waist and used it to bind his ankles together. He sat back on his heels, straddling Paris’s legs, staring down for a moments before realizing Paris still wore his robe.

He leaned forward and pulled his dagger from under his pillow next to Paris’s head. Paris’s eyes followed his hand until it was out of his line of sight, then they closed.

Hector grabbed the seam of Paris’s robe where it lay against the back of his thighs, and put the edge of the dagger to it. He cut slowly.

Paris lay as still as night air, panting. Hector parted the halves of the robe as he went, stopping and staring at the beautiful golden skin revealing itself before his eyes. He touched the broad side of the cold blade to the swell of Paris’s backside, and Paris's hips pushed up.

Hector closed his mouth and swallowed the saliva pooling and threatening to spill out. He cut until he reach the neckline of the robe, and then tossed the dagger to the floor, and pressed his pillow under Paris’s hips.

He slid down Paris's body, spread his thighs, and gripped Paris's cheeks in his rough hands. He dug his thumbs into Paris’s cleft and spread him wide.

Paris groaned and pushed up hard against his hands. Hector bent forward and pressed his tongue into the heated cleft.

Paris begged with groans, swung his hips from side to side, pushed back harder, until Hector felt his tongue sliding farther down. He stiffened it and pushed in, unable to swallow the saliva that flooded out of his mouth. He drenched Paris’s entrance and thrust wildly until Paris was screaming mindlessly under him.

Hector sat up and pushed forward. With Paris’s ankles bound together, it was tight. But he was leaking steadily, and Paris’s hips were pushing back hard, and he was not capable of stopping.

Hector grunted as the head of his cock suddenly breached Paris’s entrance, then he gripped his brother’s hips and assailed his body.

His head fell back, and his body fell back, and the only thing keeping him from falling backwards completely was his grip on Paris’s hips.

He yelled at Paris. For coming on the mission, coming after him, for running from his responsibilities, for everything.

Paris gripped the wooden frame he was tied to and wailed into his climax. Hector growled, and shuddered, and followed his lead.

When they returned to Troy, Acamas teased Hector about being right in taking Paris on the mission. To which Hector said nothing in response.

 _End_


End file.
